


Time Amelioration

by spunkyMaverick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Azkaban, Calming Draught, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Express, Lucius is the main character, Lucius just got out of Azkaban, Lucius loves his wife and son, Manipulation, Narcissa is dead, Original Character(s), POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Sirius Black Lives, Time Travel, draco is dead, lucissa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16070066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spunkyMaverick/pseuds/spunkyMaverick
Summary: *This will be under reconstruction. (Or whatever the phrase is. I'm going to rewrite it.)*Some different events go on. Lucius is released from Azkaban. Stuff happens. Time Travel. And some crazy memory stuff goes on.INCONSISTENT UPDATES





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let's give you some context: Lucius has been in Azkaban for 25 years. He was tried and found guilty in the Wizengamot for being a Death Eater along with a bunch of other illegal stuff, such as practice of dark magic, multiple counts of using Unforgivable Curses, attacking Muggles, etc.

"Narcissa," Lucius breathes out. He feels as if she isn't really there, that him standing before her is a lie, that she will disappear in an instance. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand forward and is surprised when it meets the soft skin of her hand. He looks at her hand, so pale, so delicate, so familiar, so reassuring. He looks up from her hand to her deep blue eyes, and he is drowning in an ocean with how blue they are. He would gladly drown too if it meant he could see them for the rest of his life. The seconds are minutes, are hours, are days, are months, are years. And all the same it's all too soon when he pulls back to reality.

Narcissa and he embrace. And Lucius holds her tightly, tighter than the first time, tighter than the last time. He holds his beloved Narcissa close, close, close, never daring to back away less he realize this is all a mistake, a lie, a fraud, an illusion, a hallucination. Lucius doesn't want to wake up in Azkaban, in his cell, reliving his worst memories over and over and over and over and-- And when Narcissa holds him close, and he actually feels her arms wrap around his waist and actually feels the pressure of Narcissa holding him close, Lucius breathes out a shaky breath. And as much as this is grounding and tells him this is real (This is real for Merlin's sake!), Lucius has to be sure.

"Is...," Lucius asks slowly and quietly but loud enough that Narcissa can hear him, his voice cracks from disuse, "is this real? Are you actually here? Am I out? Am I free?"

And Narcissa pulls back and looks into his eyes. And he can see the sadness in Narcissa's deep blues. And Lucius can feel it deep in his heart. That it hurts her on some level. Before he can speak the apology that is on the tip of his tongue, ready to roll free and ask for forgiveness.

"Yes," she tells him firmly, a hand placed on Lucius's pale cheek as he looks into her eyes, which are now firm and resolute. "You are here. I am here. We're outside of that awful prison. We're free. You're free, Lucius."

And he can't help but to believe it. She is surely telling the full and entire truth to him right now. But it still leaves him with one question that remains unanswered. And Lucius isn't sure if he wants the answer.

"But at what price?" he asks Narcissa, voice croaky and making his throat hurt when he speaks at all.

"You'll know soon. They'll explain in court."

* * *

Lucius can't leave his home without an Auror accompanying him, and he has to talk with them. They never agree to let him go. He is also required to have a Mind Healer see him multiple times a month for the next however many years it takes. Lucius isn't allowed a wand or any other object that was deemed dangerous in his hands by the Wizengamot. It's quite annoying really. Lucius can't cook because a knife isn't allowed. He can barely read anything without somebody examining it for hidden weapons. And one of the Aurors hit Lucius with a Stunner because he stood near the double doors that lead to the outdoors. Apparently, Lucius looked like he was planning to make a run for it.

He wasn't. Lucius was just looking at the doors in solemn sorrow. He can't leave his home. Sure, it's large and fancy and has all sorts of things to do in it. But sometimes all the space and emptiness is crushing. The only people Lucius ever sees are that Mind Healer he doesn't really like, the Aurors that he hates, and Narcissa who he loves dearly. Narcissa has always been there for Lucius, and he is grateful for that.

However, Lucius never sees Draco. His son who hadn't been born yet when he was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. It had taken Lucius far too long to realize he had made a grave mistake. Lucius isn't sure how long it was before he realized he couldn't leave, before he realized there was no escape, before he realized he would never see proper daylight, never be happy, never see his wife again, never meet his son. And yet here Lucius is. Alive, well, and free. And he wonders to himself if it would be selfish of him, greedy of him, to want to see his son. How rude would it be to want to see his son when Lucius hadn't been there for Draco in all of these years? Surely Draco would hate him.

“Narcissa?” Lucius inquires quietly, half-hoping to be heard and half-hoping to be ignored. He is rather conflicted. He isn't sure which would be worst.

“Yes, dear?” Narcissa asks, looking up from her book. Her eyes draw him in, but he settles his stormy gray eyes on her lips, so deeply red and beautiful. Lucius fondly remembers how often in their school years when Narcissa would almost constantly be applying lipstick but still be able to make it seem intimidating to everyone. Everyone but him, of course. Lucius had found it endearing, and it wouldn't much do to be intimidated by his best friend. A best friend who had become his girlfriend, then his fiancée, and then his wife.

Lucius pauses to collect his thoughts and order them in a way that seems casual. However, this topic just isn't one that can be casual. He can feel it. The topic of their son has been skillfully avoided in a way that anyone else may not even know they even have a son. However, Lucius knows better.

“Where is he?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Narcissa lies seamlessly, casual and offhanded as if it were small talk. Lucius knows she's lying, and Narcissa knows that he knows.

“Narcissa, please,” Lucius begs, looking at her. However, Narcissa’s gaze is cast firmly down at her book, preventing their eyes from meeting.

“Truly. I'm just trying to read. I haven't an inkling who you speak of,” her voice doesn't waver, her fingers don't twitch, but Narcissa doesn't meet his gaze. His wife is an excellent liar, far more exceptional than anyone Lucius had ever met.

“Honestly, Narcissa. Is it really so bad that you can't tell me?” Lucius inquires harshly, his insistence that she tell him becoming annoyance that she won't. Lucius does his best to restrain for yelling.

Narcissa stays quiet, only flipping a page. Dread fills him as Lucius can only think of one such fate if she is reluctant to speak of it.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Death, Panic Attack**
> 
> _Remember: If you ever feel I should a Trigger Warning that isn't present, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me, so I can add it._

_ Lucius recalls a time when he had been sent to bed when he was younger. He had been tucked into bed by the family house elf and went to sleep. Or rather, he pretended to sleep until a few minutes after the pop of the house elf leaving. Lucius had snuck out of his room and down the stairs, and he pauses at the doorway to the family room. He had been curious what his parents always talked about and did after he went to bed. He wanted to know what it was that grown-ups did after he went to sleep. Unfortunately, his parents didn't see him yet as an adult, so he would have to sneak around and hide. _

_ He had peeked outside his door and had to cover his mouth to prevent from making a sound with his parents walked right by his door. He had almost been caught before he even left his room. They would have been furious had they caught him. He is grateful that he had caught himself in time. He can't imagine what they would've done. Probably scream at him that ‘he was a disgrace to the Malfoy family name’ and that ‘he would never live up to his potential when he sneaks around like a Gryffindor’ in that angry, authoritative voice that they had always used that would make him cry. (He had gotten used to it by the time he started Hogwarts, even if it did still make him flinch at times.) _

_ They had stopped at a painting just five doors down the hall from his room, and-- _

Lucius looks at the painting before him. A family portrait with his father, his mother, and seven-year-old that had once been himself. It's hard to believe that small boy would grow to be the man he is today. The frowns and touches the painting just barely. The blonde releases a silent sigh and his gray eyes, if anyone were to look into them, pictured a dark rainy day that would swallow up all color that dared to mock it by making itself visible. The child in that painting is going to go through sadness that no child should have to deal with, hardship that no child should ever be put through. It almost breaks his heart, but he reminds himself that the child is himself, and he turned out fine for a disappointment to himself and society.

Lucius doesn't wait up for the Aurors to come and see what he is up to. He pushes his hand through the painting and feels around, hoping that this specific item is still them. It should be. Only those of the Malfoy family can get through after all. And he doesn't think there are any wizards of Malfoy that are Aurors. And even if there were, he highly doubts they would betray him. And within seconds, Lucius feels the metal and glass against his fingertips and takes it into his grasp before pulling it out and shoving it in his pocket.

_ When he had turned seventeen, Lucius was legally of age in the wizarding world. His parents had decided that then, and only then, would they would tell him of one secret. An item that has been in their family for decades. Exactly how long would be very difficult, if not outright impossible, to to figure out. Some things are just that ancient. His parents had told him that in his darkest times, in the absolute worst of circumstances, this object would be his failsafe. This item could be what turns everything around for better or for worse. _

Lucius, now in his study that is connected to his bedroom, sits at a mahogany desk and pulls out the item from the depths of his pocket, and the candlelight reflects off of the item. In short, his family has somehow had a Time Turner for years. Perhaps, somebody had travelled back in time and left it? He isn't sure to be entirely honest. However, either way, he has a Time Turner. Looking over his shoulder, he recalls the instructions. Well, instruction singular as there was only one thing he had to do. He merely had to break it. Lucius wonders if his circumstances are truly so dire. Perhaps not. His light blonde eyebrows furrow deeply, his stormy gray eyes narrow sharply, and his teeth bare down into his lower lip anxiously.

Does he dare?

No. Not yet. He still has Narcissa who needs him, and he doesn't even know what would happen if he broke it. What if he simply got stuck in a loop of the same three hours for all eternity? He doesn't want to exist like that, and he would hate to leave Narcissa behind like that.

* * *

Everything just seems to be turning against him. Why is everything crumbling beneath him? Why did he do that started the chain of events that led him to this point now? He isn't sure, but whatever it was, he wishes he hadn't done that. Perhaps he's always destined to have everything he ever loves ripped from him before he can properly appreciate them, or maybe he just made all the wrong choices. He doesn't know. He would put his money on a grotesque amalgamation of the two.

The Aurors took enough sympathy that they let him attend the funeral. Everyone that attended was giving him looks, whether of pity, confusion,  hatred, or a combination of the three. Narcissa lay dead in the casket, and the only time he would ever see her again is in pictures and in his dreams. He fears forgetting her. He fears waking up one day and not knowing why he is so sad. He fears her nonexistent.

Lucius doesn't want to forget Narcissa. He doesn't want to forget her long, sunshine curls that light up his morning better than any light ever did. He doesn't want to forget how deeply blue those eyes are, for they are gems and cost more than even the most priceless of jewels. He doesn't want to forget her lips, so full, so soft, so red, so perfect. He doesn't want to forget the perfect feel of his wife wrapping her arms around him. Her hugs are the best he has ever had the fortune of experiencing; he would never be able to compare it to another. Never. He doesn't want to forget the snark and intellect and love and beauty that is all Narcissa. He doesn't want to forget her. He doesn't want to forget his wife.

“Are you alright?” is what pulls him back to reality. It's a whisper full of worry. Looking over, he sees a pair pity-filled dark eyes. Andromeda Tonks looks at him with more feeling than she ever has before. He looks around and sees that most people have gone already. There are still a few who linger. Bellatrix Black is standing with a blank look on her face but somehow still looks if she is on the verge of breaking apart. A young man who looks remarkably like James Potter (down to his glasses and dark hair) stands talking with a girl with dark skin and the biggest, wildest hair he had ever seen and another boy who could only be a Weasley with hair that shade and that many freckles.

Lucius doesn't trust his voice to answer Andromeda. He simply shakes his head in a 'no’ as his response. He doesn't want to cry. He doesn't want to sob loudly. He doesn't want other people to hear his agony. To see how broken his heart is. To see that the only thing keeping him alive is the fact that Narcissa wouldn't want him dead just because she is. Not to mention, he wants revenge.

“I didn't think so,” Andromeda responds softly, her eyes seemly empty and lost as the wandered. “I can only imagine what it must be like to be in your shoes, having lost your child and your spouse. I can't imagine losing Ted or Nymphadora.”

Lucius looks at her and can only spot the similarities Andromeda has with his wife. Her face shape is very similar, and they have the same nose. And if Andromeda's hair were blonde, it would almost perfectly match her sister's. Lucius blinks quickly and takes a deep breath as he tries to calm himself. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. But a tear drips down.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes as he wipes the tears that had begun to flood from his eyes mercilessly. “I… You just… really look her, you know? I keep expecting to see her, but she's not there.”

The blonde laughs brokenly in an attempt to lighten the mood if only a little. Andromeda seems to have caught on and gives him the pity. She laughs a bit and informs him, “I had always thought you married my sister because she was a pureblood and wanted her for her status.”

Lucius frowns and a biting insult dares to jump from his tongue in the anger that overwhelms him at that. And it takes that fierce jump from his lips.

“No! That's not true! I loved her! I still do! Narcissa is the best thing that ever happened to me!” he yells and then quiets down. “I became her friend because she was a pureblood. I wanted to impress my father having relations with other purebloods. However, with time, I fell in love with her, not because she was pureblood but because I liked who she was.”

“Yes. I know,” Andromeda tells Lucius after he is done. “If you would have let me finish, I'd have explained that I realized I was wrong. Right now really proves that. I must go soon, so I just have two things to say to you. Thank you for loving my sister, and if you ever need somebody to talk to, I'm here.”

Then, she appeared away without letting him get a word in. He isn't sure he would have said anything anyways. Lucius looks around and sees the James look-alike still remains, but his group seems to have since left. He is giving Lucius a certain look as if he isn't sure he believes what he is seeing. Two minutes pass as the two men just look at each other from a distance. Then, the bespectacled boy walks forward taking the initiative. Of course, he would. Lucius could think of very reasons why he would want to talk to this boy, and none of them would allow for a meaningful conversation.

When the man is standing before him, Lucius notices how young he is. His hair is dark and wild and glasses cover his bright green eyes. Green, not quite the color of emeralds but closer to--

_ Avada Kedavra! _

He shakes the thought from his head. It doesn't matter. Lucius just wants to know what the dark-haired man wanted, so he can go home and mourn.

“Hello. I'm Harry Potter. I just want to tell you that you have to move on. Don't be held back from re-marrying. It's okay to still love her, but don't let it keep you from moving on.”

“What would you know of such a topic?” Lucius snaps. “What are you, 20?”

“I had a boyfriend, and I thought he was meant to be. We dated for years. However, in fifth year, he took his life. It took a while to realize that I can love him and move on. Now, I'm engaged to another, but I've never stopped loving him,” Harry informs Lucius.

“I didn't come here to receive a life lesson from… from some boy who thinks he's wise. I will mourn. I sincerely doubt I will ever be able to love anybody as much as I loved Narcissa,” Lucius growls. “I find the notion insulting.”

With that, Lucius walks away, being escorted by the Aurors who had brought him here in the first place, leaving behind a confused and shocked Harry Potter. (Lucius would later learn that this kid is the one who defeated the Dark Lord.)

* * *

Lucius once more finds himself sitting in his office holding the ancient artifact that is a last resort. The only way to use this is to break it. Or so his parents had told him. He stares at the object in his palm and wonders if it's worth it. Surely, it is. He's lost his wife and never met his son. Very few people trust him anymore. What would be the purpose of remaining in this time anymore if he could change everything to be better? He could save Draco and Narcissa and prevent himself from being imprisoned in Azkaban for so many years. It would ultimately result in the best outcome. The pros far outweigh the cons.

Lucius stands up from his chair and raises the Time Turner above his head, and just as he throws it down, the door bursts open to reveal one of the Aurors that are supposed to be watching him. He knows this one actually -- Sirius Black. He had been imprisoned in Azkaban for many years. However, he had escaped. Shortly after, his spot had been replaced with a screaming and crying Peter Pettigrew. A pitiful man he was with loyalty issues and a knack for lying.

The Time Turner cracks on the ground and the time dust spills out endlessly. Sirius runs forward, completely bypassing the wand and tackles him to the ground as the Time Turner ticks rapidly and explodes. The room seems to spin and shake and a ringing erupts in his ears. He squints his eyes shut as the room settles and the ringing fades.

However, there is a different feeling and smell and sound. Lucius slowly opens his gray eyes so that they are just thin slits, peeking exhaustedly into the world. He closes them again shortly thereafter due to the unbearable daytime brightness. Lucius feels as if he had just woken up after a long night of sleep. His first thoughts are that he just wants to go back to sleep. However, another thought wriggles into tired blonde’s mind: something isn't quite right with this.

And that's wakes Lucius up a bit more. Reluctantly, he pushes himself to sit upright, causing the blankets to fall off him. He shivers at the cold and has to reign in the urge to just curl back up under the blankets. His memory seems to be in fragments, nothing in his head is comprehending very well. He rubs his eyes as he shifts out of bed. Lucius nearly falls over as soon as he stands up. Don't stand up so fast, he mentally reminds himself.

He looks around, and his mind fills in holes as he tries to make sense of everything. Why can't he remember the day before, and why does he feel so off? Is he sick maybe? Or maybe it's just that he isn't a morning person. Lucius supposes both are possible. Since he doesn't seem to be gathering many concrete answers just standing in this room --  _ his _ room, his brain supplies helpfully -- Lucius walks to a door which he is fairly certain is the exit to the room.

He realizes something when he grabs the doorknob. Or rather, it actually sinks in when he does so, but that's not the point. His hands are tiny. Of course, they're tiny. He's only six after all. Something seems to be wrong about his mind's logic somehow. He isn't sure why, and the more he tries to think about it, the more his head hurts. He clenches his teeth as he pulls his hand from the doorknob and holds both of them up. They're so small, but why does that bother him. Why is that wrong? It doesn't make sense.

He begins to huff out his breathes, and his eyes water up. He doesn't understand. What's wrong with him? Something is wrong with him. He can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't breathe, CAN'T BREATHE. He falls back and wraps his arms around himself. He tries desperately to breathe but his breathes are erratic and don't want to work with him. What's wrong with him? What's happening? He doesn't understand. He sobs as he tries to make sense of things, but his mind is scrambled and his head hurts and his hands are too small and he's too wrong and he can't remember.

He doesn't know when he had closed his eyes or when the voice had come and someone is comforting him. Someone is there beside him telling him to calm down, but he can't! He can't just calm down! And he wants to yell but he's crying and he can't breathe. He needs air, air, air. Can't breathe. Need to breathe.

“Deep breathes. Come on. Yes, just like that. Here's a Calming Draught, alright? It should help,” says the voice of someone as they press a bottle into his hands, which takes shakily. He drinks it, and his heart doesn't seem to be choking him, and his mind doesn't seem to be going a thousand miles an hour in its frenzy for answers. Lucius blinks his eyes a few times and looks over his shoulder to see his mother, which is odd for some reason. He doesn't try to think about it. It hadn't turned out well the first time.

“Now, Lucius, do you know what caused that?” his mother asks him, looking down at him with a certain look. He can't decipher it.

“No, mother,” he lies to her quietly, looking at his hands again, which he rubs together. Small. They're too-- They're a normal size for a six-year-old, and he is six. He knows this. He  _ should _ know this anyways. And why did he lie to her? He doesn't know. He feels that she wouldn't understand. He doesn't even understand. He doesn't see how anybody else might. Anyways, something in him tells Lucius not to trust her. Maybe it's his gut or his magic or his brain. He doesn't know, but he isn't about to risk something like that.

His mother purses her lips as if she's thinking about something. Then, she sighs and smiles sadly down at him and tells him, “If you insist. Just know that no matter what, you can come to me, alright?”

“Okay, mother,” Lucius responds monotonously. “May I have breakfast now?”

“Of course, dear. Come along.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Child Abuse, Manipulation, Wizarding Slurs**
> 
> Sorry it took so long. However, here's this chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Large hedges, a leafy green color that could only appear so healthy and so perfect with the assistance of magic, section off aggregations of flowers by the hue of their petals. His parents truly amaze him with how much magic they use even for the simplest things in life as they insist that if there's a spell for it, they should use it instead of doing it “the Muggle way”. They claim that it's being resourceful, which he supposes is partly true; however, Lucius would much sooner use the words “lazy” and “stubborn” to describe his parents. He would never say this to their faces. They would be very much unappreciative of being informed of their faults. Anyone would. It's just the nature of humankind to hate being considered inferior.

Lucius sits on the grass despite there being an available chair for his use. Sometimes, he just needs to get away and be able to feel and see and smell everything, to be able to know he exists. He uses this time to relax and collect his thoughts.

Stormy gray eyes slide toward the baby blue sky as wisps of clouds lazily drift by. He sighs, not in annoyance or sadness or anything of the like; this is a breath of contentment. Lucius feels surprisingly free. But why would he? He's allowed to do nearly anything he would like, so why does he feel most relaxed when he's away from everything else?

Agonizing screams fill his ears, and he jerks his head all around him in confusion and fear. His vision blurs and an image of an old, moldy cell flickers before him. It's dirty and made of stone. There's a door with no doorknob, or any other clear way to open it, that is clearly intended to keep the prisoner in -- to keep _him_ in. Anxiety sets in as Lucius looks around frantically, trying to find the garden he had just been in, but it's not there. The garden is missing! He can hear ear-piercing screams and loud laughter that sounds painful and reminds him too much of heart-wrenching sobs.

Lucius covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of blocking everything out. To make these sounds, these images, these hallucinations to go away. Please go away. Make it stop. He doesn't like it. He wants it to stop.

“Please stop,” Lucius shakily whispers. “I don't want to be here.”

He feels warmth envelop him, and the images change. A blonde-haired woman is holding him, beautiful and kind. _His wife_ , a voice murmurs. But that isn't possible. He's too young to be married off yet. When Lucius opens his scared, wet eyes, the image disappears and the sounds fade into the sweet nothings of his mother comforting him. Lucius doesn't hug her back. He chokes on a breath as he pulls back, but his mother holds him close to her protectively.

“Shh… Everything is alright, dear. You're safe with me. You're safe. You're here.”

Although it takes a lot of time, he calms down to a degree that he can see clearly, and Lucius can breathe.

“Mother?” Lucius whispers.

“Yes?” she responds quietly to him.

“I-I don't want to go to Azkaban,” he tells her.

His mother pulls back, so she can look him in the eye. With a promise in her voice, she tells him, “You won't. I'll make sure of it. Not while I still live.”

The gesture is reassuring, but he knows she can't say for sure.

* * *

“Lucius, will you be alright if we invite a few guests to the house?” his mother asks gently.

“Yes, mother. I'll be fine,” the boy tells her despite the worries of the contrary being true. He can't say for certain. The strangest things set him off, and he doesn't know what else will.

“Perfect. They will come by later today, so I suggest you ready yourself for the meeting. Lady Black has a daughter about your age that she would like you to meet,” she informs him.

_Narcissa Black_. A name so momentary that he nearly forgets it, but something forces him to hold the name close to his heart with animal-like desperation.

Later that day, Lucius is sitting in his family's library at one of the tables, talking with a girl with a name that is important to him. It's easy to talk to her. It's like he knows exactly what to say. He knows how exactly she will react to one thing or to another. He knows how to keep the conversation going. But despite all of this, he isn't really paying attention to her words. Lucius is trying to make sense of these feelings he has. He hasn't even known her a full day, and he feels like he has known Narcissa for years.

“Lucius? Are you alright?” asks the blue-eyed girl who had been on his mind.

“Yes. I'm fine,” he tells her. He isn't entirely certain whether or not it is a lie or truth, but something tells him it wasn't completely true. He hadn't been okay since… since that day he thought his hands were too small. As if it were abnormal or surreal or something.

“Well, if you're certain,” she says a bit warily but continues what she had been saying before.

Narcissa seems to leave far too soon, sooner than he is ready for her to go, and it's disappointing that they hadn't gotten the chance to speak longer. That's alright. He knows he'll see her again. He just does.

* * *

Lucius receives the letter regarding his acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and for some reason, he isn't as excited as he thought he'd be. Lucius knows he _should_ be excited (if not outright thrilled), but he just _isn't_. Perhaps anxiety is overwhelming his amazement? Certainly that must be the case.

Some images pop in and out of his mind within a few blinks. An ancient and tattered hat. An entourage of troublemaking bullies. A victim with greasy hair and old, dirty robes. He isn't sure what to make of it. And the last times he tried to force himself to think about these things, it didn't turn out exceptionally well. But maybe he can push through it? Maybe he can get an answer. Maybe he can understand.

But maybe not right now. _Later_ , Lucius promises himself.

* * *

Light blonde hair lays flat on Lucius's head, stopping sooner than he expects when he runs his fingers through it. A light frown pushes onto his lips with no resistance. Perhaps he should request to grow it out. He isn't sure how much his father would like that. Not much, that's for sure. However, he can't spend his whole life fearing the consequences of actions he never takes.

This is Lucius's time to speak up. He just needs to ask, and the worse that can happen is his father telling him he can't.

Summoning up what little courage he has, Lucius creeps out of his room and into the living room where his father and mother reside. It seems so vaguely familiar to see his mother quietly knitting something with her magic and his father reading the Daily Prophet, smirking at what Lucius guesses is some misfortune that was his father's own doing. He doesn't want to know.

“Father, I'd like to grow out my hair,” Lucius informs the man with every bit of the little courage he has. If any word were used to describe Lucius, he wouldn't use brave. This is likely the most courageous thing he's done since he was born.

“No,” his father responds without looking up from the paper. His mother doesn't even look up from her knitting. With how kind she has been with helping his calm down after those disconcerting thoughts, he had hoped that he would get at least a little support from his mother. He supposes he was right not to give her his entire trust.

Frustrated with the answer he was given and the lack of support, Lucius repeats himself, “Father, I'd like to grow out my hair.”

“No,” his father says again, still not looking up, but his fingers clench around the edges of the paper. His mother pointedly avoids looking up at him. Guilt. Lucius feels anger that she won't be a voice of reason and point out that it's just hair. Lucius's father will listen to her. Does she agree with the man?

“Why?” Lucius asks, his eyes fills with burning hot rage but the rest of face portraying a cool façade of aloofness.

His father lowers the newspaper and looks Lucius in the eyes. His face clean of any emotion and his uncaring eyes striking fear into Lucius. Lucius is filled with the need to apologize, to say he was wrong to ask more than once, to even consider the action. However, he squares his shoulders and looks up as his now standing father. His legs are just barely holding him up, and his hands are clenched weakly. His father on the other hand has at this point pulled out his wand and has it pointed at him threateningly.

“Do I scare you?” Lucius asks mockingly and why he does, he doesn't know. And he wishes he would stop. He's just asking to be punished.

“Do you care to repeat that?” his father asks harshly despite his cool demeanor. This is his out. He can just apologize and--

“I don't have to. You heard me, old man,” Lucius says, his voice seeming to laced in emotion, filled with anger and arrogance. Why is Lucius saying such stupid things?

His father mutters a spell.

Lucius winces and holds his arm where he had been hit with the hex; he deserved that, of course. He had been practically asking for a Stinging Hex. What right does he have to speak to his father that way?

His father repeats it over and over though; overkill is a surefire way to make sure the mistake isn't repeated. He doesn't stop until Lucius is cowering on the floor and whimpering for him to please stop. It's a method his father often uses.

“That'll teach you to have some respect, boy,” his father growls. “Now, go to your room. No food for the rest of the day.”

Lucius doesn't argue that he hasn't eaten a single thing today or complain that he is hungry or counter that this could be considered abuse. His father would have a clever answer for all of those and would probably make him go another day without food for back-talking or something of the likes.

Lucius makes a note not to upset his father again. Things like this happen when he tries to be brave, when he thinks he can be something. Reality is content to remind him that he can only be the perfect Malfoy heir -- from keeping his hair neat and short to being in Slytherin by the time he gets to Hogwarts. Ever since he got his Hogwarts letter, his father and mother have been reminding him that he's expected to be in Slytherin. It's making getting into Slytherin appeal less and less to him every time they mention it.

_The distant call of “Slytherin!” followed by the polite applause of many hands. Something obscuring his vision is pulled away, and he walks confidently to his new House’s table._

He ignores those thoughts, content to forget them and let the day pass by already. He doesn't want these- _whatever they are_ giving him this false hope. False hope that he can be the person his parents want him to be and what Lucius himself wants him to be as well. Why must he be attacked with these images and sounds all the time? It just isn't fair. And it certainly isn't sane.

Sitting on his bed, Lucius pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and places his head atop his knees. He makes an effort to regulate his breathing. He mustn't cry. Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys aren't weak. Malfoys don't show emotion. With the first sob, he breaks down. He doesn't even realize it when he falls asleep.

* * *

He stands before his parents on the platform as his father lectures him on his expected behavior, his mother piping in a few additions here and there. There's certainly too many to remember. It's everything from keeping his emotions in check to table manners to making connections with other students. Had they really only arrived early for him to lectured like this? His father doesn't stop talking until other people began to trickle in.

“And remember,” his father says, “the most important rule is that you don't associate with mudbloods. Disregard all other rules to maintain that one.”

_A dark, cold place. Freezing. No warmth. No happiness. No light. No hope. What's hope? The whispering of his mistakes can be heard as a Dementor passes by._

_“No! Please! Stop hurting her! Why are you doing this?!”_

_“It's just she exists, you know? You filthy muggles are disgusting. You'll be next.”_

Lucius shivers but keeps his face straight. His fingers twitch and his teeth clench, but otherwise, he would be an amazing example of what his father would deem good enough from the Malfoy heir that the public can see.

“One last thing before you go, Lucius,” his father says, his face losing even the previous annoyance it had held. “ _Don't_ have any more of those fits.”

Lucius's eyes widen as he looks to his mother for some sort of answer. Her face is steeled as it often is in public. No discernable opinion. Lucius has come up with a rule of thumb when it comes to his mother: if she doesn't say anything, she probably agrees. He doesn't have any proof that it isn't true. If she disagreed, she would surely say as much.

“Now, go.”

Before Lucius can say goodbye or offer a hug, his parents apostate away. His eyebrows furrow with dejection but nothing else. Turning around, Lucius smoothly walks across the slowly populating Platform 9 ¾ to the large red steam engine known as the Hogwarts Express with his luggage in tow. There are few students on the train and even fewer spare him a passing glance. Lucius easily locates an empty compartment and pushes open the doors, placing his trunk on the rack above his head.

Now seated in a compartment, the boy looks out the window over the platform. Lucius watches a girl cry as she hugs her parents and just generally makes an emotional scene; he clenches his pants in his hands, and he bites his lip. Why can't Lucius and his parents have that type of relationship? Where he can be an actual person and be upset when they go and not have to worry that he'll make a fool of himself and--

It's just not fair.

He looks away from the window, away from the scene. He doesn't like how sad it makes him and how angry it makes him. It's not fair that he doesn't get to have that relation, but that girl does. It's not fair. But of course, there's very little he can do about it.

Lucius isn't sure how much time passes when he hears the door to his compartment slide open, which causes him to jerk his head up. He may or may not have been half-asleep. He sees a tall boy with glasses and red hair in the doorway who looks at him with a certain look. One that Lucius can't makes any sense out of. That indecipherable look kind of scares him, but Lucius doesn't let him know that.

Suddenly, the older boy smiles and says, “Hey, do you might if I join you here?”

Lucius frowns and remembers his father telling him not to associate with muggleborn kids. Of course, his father had used that awful slur, but his point was made. There's also the fact that he doesn't know this guy. Mostly not wanting to get into any trouble, Lucius decides on a reasonable response, “Who's asking?”

The bespectacled boy frowns and furrows his eyebrows as if contemplating something. He seems to turn away for just a second before changing his mind and introducing himself, “Weasley. Arthur Weasley. Fifth year Gryffindor.”

Weasley? Weasley is a pureblood family. _Blood traitor_ whispers in his ear, but the gray-eyed first year pushes the offending thought away. Lucius’s father had said to stay away from muggleborn students but said nothing of blood traitors. Sure, it might have been implied or a given, but the point is still there. He doesn't want to upset the pureblood either way.

“Pleasure to meet you, Weasley,” Lucius greets as he stands up and extends his hand to the red-haired sixteen-year-old who takes his hand for a professional handshake. “In response to your inquiry, the compartment is only currently occupied by myself. I have little say in who else decides to join me.”

“Great!” Weasley exclaims after a short moment of confusion. Then, he tilts his head and asks, “Who do I thank?”

Lucius hesitates, unsure what Weasley will think of him if he introduces himself as a Malfoy. Would Weasley run off or yell at him for tricking him? But if Lucius lies, he could find out later and be just as angry and perhaps even feel betrayal. The best option is to omit the truth and stay cautious

“Lucius,” he responds. “You can call me Lucius.”

Weasley is silent for a few seconds that are an eternity. An eternity that fills Lucius will an anxiety that feels capable of disintegrating him from the inside out given enough time. He just wants to… Lucius isn't sure was it is he wants, but it doesn't involve Arthur Weasley leaving the compartment in disgust or anger or at all. Weasley smiles, sits across from him, and says, “Thank you, Lucius.”

As the unease leaves him all at once, the blonde can't stop the relieved smile that slips onto his features. He collects himself quickly upon realizing what he's doing. There's a short silence as Lucius just looks at Weasley, taking in his appearance. And Weasley looks out the window, seeming to be focused on something or perhaps someone. Lucius doesn't dare look, for he knows he'll get that burning rage at himself, his parents, and everyone that seems to be flaunting their healthy relations with their parents.

“Do you mind if my girlfriend joins us?” Weasley inquires suddenly. Lucius looks at him blankly, not really sure why Weasley is asking _him_ what he feels. Why would Weasley ask him? Why would _anybody_ ask him? He's just an underclassman, and he doesn't have any particular feeling towards this unnamed person.

He's unsure, so he just decides that it's best to let Weasley have what he wants. Who knows what he'd do if he denied him that? Agreeing with people usually turns about well.

“I don't mind,” Lucius lies. Because as much as he isn't sure why is being asked, he has found that being around a lot of people induces a lot of anxiety for him.

Weasley stands up with a curt nod and says, “I'll be right back then.”

Only once Weasley is out of earshot does Lucius let out his breath of relief and hold his himself. He tries to imagine he's somewhere safe, that time with Narcissa when she visited. Or in those moments with his mother when she would console him. He lets his steely gaze set into a blank stare as he just breathes and focuses on how he's alive. He's be fine; he's fine. And it's a nice distraction to just know he's alive and fine and be able to just breathe. Until his view of the seat on the opposite is obstructed by Weasley.

Blinking a few time, Weasley had clearly arrived. He isn't sure when, but Lucius is confused, mostly because Weasley had said he'd be returning with his girlfriend, and there is nobody with him.

“Where is she?” Lucius inquires, perhaps a bit more on the harsh side. However, he thinks he's justified.

“Where's who?” Weasley asks, seeming confused. Lucius narrows his eyes at the ginger. Did Weasley lie to him? Why would he do something like that? Is Lucius offensive? Does Weasley not like him? His heart pounds in his chest, and his fingers anxiously tap the seat at his sides, making a soft _du-du-du!_

“Your girlfriend, that you were going to invite to the compartment?” Lucius suggests, trying to spark his memory.

“Oh! Yeah, she was,” Weasley pauses a second too long to be normal, “with some friends. I just stopped by for a bit then came back.”

Lucius knows it's a lie (or at least not the entire truth), but he's too much of a coward -- as per usual -- to ask Weasley why he feels the need to lie to him. And terribly so, at that. The untruth was so blatantly awful, it sort of hurt. Lucius supposes Weasley is lucky that he is a coward and is also giving him pity for his atrocious attempt.

“I see,” Lucius responds, not sure what else to say at the moment.

“So do you know what House you want to be in?” Weasley asks suddenly.

Lucius looks up in slight surprise. He opens his mouth to respond, but he stops himself just short of answering. He furrows his eyebrows. An in-set gut feeling tells him Slytherin, and he wants to trust it. But he thinks of his parents telling that he MUST be in the House of Snakes over and over and over and over again. It really lost its appeal.

“No,” he finally answers.

“Well, I'm in Gryffindor. If you make it there, I can help you around. It's for the brave and bold. A lot of good people were in Gryffindor. Like Dumbledore!” Weasley explains. “Let's see. Ravenclaw is for smart people, Hufflepuff is for nice people, and Slytherin is…”

Lucius silently looks at Weasley as he seems to hesitate. Lucius's heart seems to stop as Weasley gives him an untrusting look of some sort. He can't help but feel sick somehow. The blonde swallows. It feels like his heart had crawled up into his throat.

“Slytherin is the house for the determined,” Weasley says. “That's where you go if you like to meet certain goals. And even Merlin was in that House!”

Lucius feels really hot. He can't even look Weasley in the eye. The atmosphere is so chokingly heavy, so judgement. Lucius wants to leave, but that would be suspicious. Lucius just barely manages to say, “I'll think about it. Just let me sleep. Wake me up when we arrive at Hogwarts.”

* * *

Lucius lays on his large bed in his dorm, staring up at the ceiling from beneath his silk blankets. The day seems to have run past him so swiftly. He can barely comprehend everything that conspired. He remember being awoken on the train by Weasley. He remembers panicking a bit as he boards one of the many boats with two other students a dark-haired boy who appeared to be just as nervous as he and a girl who was already looking around at everything before the boats had even set off.

_“I'm Rabastan Lestrange. What're your names?” introduces the dark-haired boy. The name seems familiar somehow, but he decides against thinking about._

_“Lucius Malfoy,” he responds._

_“Pandora,” the girl says afterwards, not even looking at them. She seems to be fascinated by something. By what though, Lucius can't be sure._

Then, there had been all the first year students --himself included, of course -- gathered together and all anxiously waiting for the professor to call their name and set an ancient, sentient hat on their head that apparently will tell them which House they should belong to.

That Pandora girl had been sent off to Ravenclaw after only a few seconds. Lestrange was announced to be in Gryffindor after a few minutes, which some older students whispered exhaustedly about a “Hatstall”. And then…

_“Malfoy, Lucius!”_

_Lucius looks up upon hearing his name called. As he walks to the stool, he looks to the Gryffindor table where Weasley should be. The older boy seems to be thinking about something. Lucius knows not what it is though. Instead, he looks away and to Lestrange who is smiling encouragingly. Then, he glances at the Ravenclaw table where Pandora gives him a wide smile, a vote of confidence to him that makes him feel a bit better. Finally, the gray-eyed boy glances over to the Slytherin table; they all have their expecting eyes on him, ready to stand up and applaud for him as soon as he is sorted into their House. In theory, it's nice to know he'll be accepted in the House; however, he knows it's just because he's a Malfoy. Those from the Malfoy family are always in Slytherin after all._

_Lucius sits on the stool, and the old, tattered hat in set upon his head, effectively covering his head. Lucius doesn't know what to think, what to say, what to do. So he just sits there. A little voice in the back of his mind screams for him to chose already._

_“I just want things get better,” Lucius whispers so quietly he wonders if he had said it at all. “Whatever it takes.”_

_“Slytherin!” the Sorting Hat roars for everyone is the Great Hall to hear._

And his House had been announced. Lucius isn't sure what he had been expecting. The rest of Slytherin House had stood up and applauded. When he had looked over to Weasley, he couldn't make out the expression, but he sincerely doubts it was a nice one. Lucius hadn't looked back at Gryffindor table after that. Professor Dumbledore had given a speech, introduced a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and announced the beginning of the feast. He had said as little as possible at the feast without being rude. Then, the prefects had led them all to their common rooms.

And besides a speech by the Slytherin Head of House, Professor Slughorn, they had been allowed to go straight to their dorms.

Lucius now lays in his bed. The others around him occupied by other first year Slytherin who are sleeping, and the next day just draws closer and closer with every second. However, Lucius is wide awake and not tired. He had tried sleeping for two hours. Nothing had worked. Lucius had tried talking with one of the other boys in his dorm for an hour until he had fallen as well. Now Lucius is laying here in this too big bed and trying to fall asleep and well rested come morning. The blonde however has a good feeling that won't be the case. He's suddenly regretting his nap on the Hogwarts Express.

Realizing he isn't falling asleep anytime soon, Lucius sits up from his spot, pushes the covers off of him, and slides out of bed. Still in his pajamas, the blonde walks out of his dorm and into the Slytherin Common Room. It's quiet all around, only illuminated by the fireplace and what little light pushes through the Black Lake to make the room an eerie green color.

“Why are you up so late, ickle firstie?” comes a sing-song voice.

Lucius looks towards the source of the voice. Clearly an older student. Lucius stretches out his fingers and locks his knees to keep them from quivering. Whoever this guy is, he doesn't mean well. That's all Lucius knows for certain.

“Well?” comes the voice again, harsher this time, angrier. “Don't you know to answer somebody when they ask you a question, or are you dumb?”

“I couldn't sleep,” Lucius responds nervously, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking. His heart is pounding is his chest, and Lucius wishes already to return to his room and pass out on his bed.

“Come here, kid,” the person says, arms crossed as he stands to his full height. His gut says to make a run for it, but his brain is telling him that he'll get hurt if he doesn't listen to this guy. He doesn't know what to do. What would his parents what him to do? He doesn't know.

“Who's asking?” Lucius asks, praying to any otherworldly being that somebody is looking over him.

“Rodolphus Lestrange,” the guy says. “Get over here, Malfoy.”

Lucius shrinks in on himself slightly at being recognized. The only supernatural being looking at him is looking up at him from the throne of Hell. Lucius steps forward towards Lestrange and stops in front of him. He looks up at the older boy.

“You're going to be doing me a favor in exchange for not ratting you out,” Lestrange says with a wide smile that shows all of his teeth and contorts his face. There is no way he has good intentions.

“Ratting me out for what?” Lucius asks hesitantly.

“Oh? Don't you know the rules? Really. You ought to. Since you don't already know, I don't feel inclined to tell you,” Lestrange says. “Now, kid, here's what I want you to do tomorrow, so listen to me carefully. One thing wrong, and you'll regret it for a century.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucius murmurs, not wanting to say anything that will upset Lestrange. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

Lestrange seems amused by one thing or another, and Lucius is not inclined to inquire about it. He clearly has an awful temper, and Lucius wouldn't put it past him to take it out on him. Plus, any professor would believe the word of an older student as opposed to that a first year, so he wouldn't be able to tell the professor it was Lestrange.

“You see, Malfoy, there's this mudblood in Hufflepuff that was bugging me a lot last year. I want you to put this is his pumpkin juice and tell him what he is once he drinks it, a weak little _mudblood_. Goes by the name Tony Liles. Ask one of the people at the table if you can't find him. Got it? Of course, you do. Now scram before I change my mind!”

And with that, Lucius runs back to him dorm room to fall into a restless sleep.


End file.
